HeyJaredThe Little Feline
Phil Kemp's writings on a variety of cultural, historical, literary, philosophical, political and theological topics. Phil wants to inspire his readers to embrace the divinity that lives within and reject corporate rule and its materialist world view.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 13
- Latest publication
- Sep 29, 2026
- Audience
- Checking…
- Earliest in this view
- Jul 7, 2026
Latest issues
“Circlespiral” (opens the original)
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Nature speeds inevitable course;one summer-autumn dayI walked, looked up at tree;beheld leaf head gold,scarlet, descending to green;youth attempting to remain.Viewing my tree, Iimagine ever-growing sapling,not wood of experience;hearkening, life beckons,exploration of uncharted territories,liberation from expectation’s prison.Slow, ashleaf soil-spiralling;in spring walked labyrinth,no longer season-circling;time trajectory’s arrow,speeding towards certain fall,finds rest undergrounda
“Contemplative” (opens the original)
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God’s eyes regard him,speaking words congregationoften heard before.Repetitions rain-fallupon desperation’s ground.God is listening still.Responding with languageshe alone knows; adults seekGod through outward symbols.God’s pleased all come,gathering this Sunday morn,heart response to sacramental summon.God converses throughlong-held gaze; spirit<
“I Will Beauty” (opens the original)
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Yesterday, multi-colored gardens,rolled hay in tree-lined field;Today, red-berried bush,white delicacy hedgerowed.Overhead, geese call makingseasonal journey; miracletiming departure return,intuitive unclocked precision.Earth, water, air, fire;natural elements conspire,sustain universal patient,amid darker days lengthening.Forth-bringing autumn harvest;ripen
“Cafe Paradiso” (opens the original)
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No room inside, we taketea pulling up two chairsto flower-surrounded table.“Look”. Pointing finger arrestsattention. Silent avianfairy hovers, flutteringwings maintain position,curved beak sips tendernectar from willing petal-bowl;passion of lover for beloved,Solomon to the maiden.Observing sacred conjunctionbrought again sanctuarywardto place of
“A Good End” (opens the original)
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Fine finishing, month’s last daysunset painting pinks, golds infinal salute over fields of cornat attention standing.Wind whispers their green heads.“He is gone, he who loved soil’sfeel in his worn hands, he wholived close to earth, was inevening’s latter part called home.”Soft warmed night where insectselegiac buzz. Here, at momentof passing, owl’s distant call echoes
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